Intermezzo
by Pidraya
Summary: A look into the life of Anatoly Zhukov and Svetlana Chernitskaya - in March of 1999.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note:**_

Canon affords a fair (albeit confusing) amount of detail about the relationship between Gibbs and Jenny Shepard, but the bare minimum for _Anatoly Zhukov_ and _Svetlana Chernitskaya_.

In _Judgement Day_ (Season 5) we learn that the latter was a citizen of Uzbekistan who came out of nowhere in 1999 as Natasha Lenkov - at the helm of a successful import/export business.

We also learn that she was the handler for Anatoly Zukov - an ex-KGB hitman selling his services to the highest bidder after the Cold War.

Together they worked for the Russian _ring_ that Jenny and Gibbs were trying to infiltrate in 1999.

It's always important to me to know _who_ my characters are, so in the absence of anything tangible, I came up with my own backstory for them.

To me, the most fascinating thing about Svetlana being a citizen of Uzbekistan is that the predominant religion there is Islam.

In the 1920s and 1930s (when Uzbekistan was still part of the USSR), Stalin and Co., were trying to emancipate Muslim women on their southern borders - because they saw them as victims oppressed by their patriarchal Party activists in the region urged women to throw off their veil, attend soviet schools, become party members, and all that jazz.

Svetlana would not have been born _then_, but in my head her grandfather was a party official who came to Uzbekistan to oversee the above - and stayed.

Married an Uzbek woman and raised his children to be non-Muslim.

Svetlana came along at some point - and was not raised Muslim either.

As I understand it, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Uzbekistan's _National Security Service_ followed in the footsteps of the KGB.

We know that Anatoly was ex-KGB, so I see him coming to Uzbekistan to train recruits.

However, he found a more lucrative job – offered to him by the ring.

He had already met the young Svetlana, and had determined that she was full of potential. When he changed jobs, he thought he saw more possibilities for her and she was whisked off to Mother Russia _(smile, Mateja)_ for training. She quickly became much more than even Anatoly had envisioned - and ultimately became his handler.

They overstepped the boundaries of their working relationship pretty fast, and the chemistry between them was as strong as that between Gibbs and Jenny in that time period.

For the purposes of the storyline, I have created an additional character:

_Sergei_ – a friend of Svetlana's family who was responsible (financially and otherwise) for brokering the move because he occupied an important position within the _ring_.

* * *

_**Svetlana's apartment in Paris, France**_

_**March 1st, 1999**_

He'd been sitting around the apartment for days.

Drinking a little more than usual.

Barely talking.

Making almost no effort to communicate.

Consumed by what was eating him up.

It all boiled down to the fact that he'd been given very few jobs in the past few months; all of them beneath his dignity and skill.

He hadn't said very much, and that was as much a part of the problem as anything else.

He was internalizing, in the absence of any real indication as to _why_ it was happening, and in the process he had started to shut her out. He would be the last person to admit this, but it was the little things he'd stopped doing which gave him away. The little things which made up the fabric of their relationship.

"Anatoly ..."

"_Da?_"

He turned opaque eyes on her; accepting the Samovar tea she was offering with a curt nod before going back to staring at the painting on the wall in front of him.

Her one attempt at talking had been met with a snippy response to leave well alone - and she had.

She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently; trying to convey that she was there if he wanted to talk.

He didn't respond.

She stood there for a while, waiting, and eventually drifted back to the pile of paperwork on her desk.

Halfway through translating a document her phone rang – the one that only Sergei called on - and the change in Anatoly was immediate.

He paced nervously around her as she said, "allo?" into the receiver.

Their eyes met as the familiar voice came down the line – and she was relieved to see that his suddenly looked more alive than they had in a while.

The phone call was brief.

He wanted to see her as soon as possible.

It could only mean good things, they decided as they opened a bottle of champagne over dinner that night.

* * *

_**Soviet War Memorial at Treptower Park, Berlin**_

_**March 2nd, 1999**_

_**1030**_

Svetlana reached for her phone with trembling hands as she watched Sergei walk away.

_He's reckless and unreliable._

The words echoed in her head as she tried to punch in Anatoly's number.

_He takes unnecessary risks._

She'd listened in silence as he'd told her how Anatoly had run American agents off the road in Russia a few weeks earlier, and drawn attention to the ring in a way which wasn't acceptable.

Everything had made sense to her then.

The sidelining, the demeaning jobs, the silence.

He was being punished.

Sergei had stopped short of saying that he'd become a liability – and had assured her that he was looking out for Anatoly's interests. But she wasn't sure she believed him. She had no illusions about what would happen if the powers that be determined that Anatoly _had_ become a liability – and the thought that he could be taken from her in cold blood almost brought her to her knees.

Her finger hovered over the last number, but she found that she couldn't make the call.

No doubt he was sitting in the apartment waiting for her to ring - and she had no idea how she was going to tell him.

So she decided to wait until she got back to Paris. Buy herself a few hours and use them to determine how best to break the news.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note:**_

A s_amovar_ is essentially a huge vat for heating water. A pot of concentrated tea sits at the top – waiting to be diluted. Although originally the water was heated by charcoal or pine cones, electric ones have been around for a while now.

* * *

_**Svetlana's apartment in Paris**_

_**1700**_

They eyed one another warily.

Almost painfully, Svetlana thought, as she walked into her apartment and found Anatoly standing by the window as expected.

Aware that anything she said could be misconstrued, she merely flipped the light switch in the kitchen.

"Tea?"

Anatoly responded with a simple "yes," as he came to stand in the doorway.

He watched her open one of the cupboards and waited for her to speak; anxiety radiating from him.

"Anatoly .."

"Yes?"

It took him a moment to realize that she was was asking for his help, and stepped forward immediately to free the samovar from the tangle of electric cords in the cupboard.

Leaning back against the counter top he smiled as she placed a concentrate of orange pekoe tea, apple cider and cloves into the vat's crown, before reaching for some honey. It made him feel good inside that she had chosen to use his grandmother's recipe, but it was clear from her demeanour that something was off.

The tight knot of worry in his gut amplified.

Svetlana could feel him watching her, and knew that the intensity of her deliberate movements belied all of the subsurface stress.

She needed to come right out and tell him, she thought as she pulled out her most ornate tea cups and laid them on the dining room table alongside some silver spoons.

He listened without a word – watching her face closely as she spoke. Almost as though he were trying to determine whether she was telling the truth. His eyes growing darker and angrier with each passing word.

Svetlana took a shaky breath when she'd told him everything Sergei had said.

Anatoly pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against.

"I'm out of cigarettes," he said as he crushed the empty packet in his right hand and reached for his coat.

She reached for hers, ready to walk with him to the nearest tobacco stall, but he raised his hand sharply and turned away from her.

The door to the apartment closed with a firm _click _that echoed through the apartment.

She considered following him – because it was clear to her that he was struggling. But if he wouldn't let her in then there was very little she could do to help him.

Not to mention that she was too hurt to deal with any more of his coldness at the moment.

_**An hour and a half later ..**_

Ordinarily they would have sat side by side, but there seemed to be too much emotional distance between them for that, so they shared a pot of tea across the table.

"Do you want something to eat?" Svetlana asked when the silence had stretched longer than she was able to bear without wanting to get up from table.

"No."

He watched her walk to the kitchen anyway; his mind working hard to figure out a way to bring up the current state of affairs without spawning a discussion or an argument.

It irked him to come up empty, especially when somewhere in the back of his head he was battling the thought that she just hadn't tried hard enough with Sergei. Hadn't been able to make him see that he was still the ring's best asset.

He knew this was unfair. He knew it. But he couldn't stop the thought from overshadowing his thought process and stoking the fire of his anger.

He tried to raise the tea cup to his lips, but found he was far too angry to dissemble.

"What aren't you telling me?" His tone was accusatory as he trailed her into the kitchen.

"Nothing. He didn't say anything else."

She sounded weary, and the thought that she might be tired of dealing with this – something which was _so_ important to him - made him even angrier.

"Who are they using now? Dimitri?"

"Does it matter?" Svetlana said with a shrug as she headed back to the table.

She regretted her words the moment the moment they left her lips, but there was no way of taking them back, so she merely braced herself for his response.

Anatoly followed her back to the table, angrier than she had seen him in a long time.

As she picked up the remaining teacup and saucer, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"What do you mean _does it matter?_"

"Anatoly … you're under a lot of pressure. Please don't do this."

"_What do you mean does it matter?_" he repeated as he shook her roughly.

The sick feeling in Svetlana's stomach intensified as Anatoly reached out with his left hand, wrenched the tea cup from her hands and slammed it onto the table.

"It matters. It matters to _me_."

She looked on in muted disbelief as the teacup splintered into several pieces - and Anatoly turned on his heel and strode out of the apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Anatoly had reached the middle of the stairwell before he came to his senses.

He slapped his palm against the handrail and sat down in the middle of the step.

There was no doubt in his mind that he had overreacted. Just as there was no doubt in his mind that Svetlana knew that.

But that didn't make it any easier to stomach the fact that he'd hurt her.

The thought that he might have injured her in some way drove him to his feet and up the stairs, but he paused as his hand made contact with the door handle.

Unsure what to expect on the other side, although self-aware enough to know that only he could fix this.

He needed to let her know that she wasn't the cause of his dour mood. To express what he was thinking and feeling, and to make sure she understood that he didn't blame her for things working out this way.

The thought that he was taking her for granted rose in his mind, but he pushed it away ruthlessly.

It was easier to believe that her love for him was so unconditional that she would let any behavioural faux pas slip under the radar. That nothing would ever change between them – no matter what he did or said, didn't do or didn't say.

Abject fear gripped him for a moment.

Fear that one day he would overstep his boundaries and she would be gone.

He couldn't contemplate being surrounded by people who didn't care _who_ he was, so as the fear stabbed at him again he took a deep breath and let himself into the apartment.

Svetlana stood by the big window overlooking the streeet, her head resting against the casing; her right hand raised to her mouth.

"Sveta .." he began tentatively.

She didn't move.

As he approached he realized that she was not crying, as he'd first thought, but holding something to her lips as though she were kissing it.

Something crunched underfoot and a sick feeling swept through him as he looked down and realized what it was.

He vaguely remembered snatching the cup from her, but had no recollection beyond that.

He knelt down and started to pick up the pieces, in the hope that he would be able to at least glue them back together for appearance's sake.

Flashes of conversation from happier days ran through his mind as he did so.

The tea set had belonged to a paternal aunt or great aunt, he seemed to recall; an heirloom handed down through several generations.

The final piece lay close to where Svetlana was standing, and as he reached for it there was a small splash on the tile by his left hand.

He didn't need to look up to know what it was, and as she made to walk away from the window, and from him, the pain in his heart made him reach up for her.

Wrapping his arms around her waist he buried his face in her abdomen; holding onto her as he begged silently for a forgiveness he wasn't sure she would give.

Svetlana placed her hand on his head and ran her fingers through his hair.

"It's just a tea cup, Anatoly," she said as she freed herself and started walking towards the bedroom.

But it wasn't _just_ a tea cup.

He suddenly remembered that the set hadn't come from an aunt, but from her grandmother. Something rare and precious which she had cherished, and treated with infinite love and respect.

Something which he had stripped from her in a heartbeat.

He put all of the pieces onto the table and followed her into the bedroom with a heavy heart.

She was lying on her side in bed. In the late afternoon light the hair splayed across the dark pillowcase looked like spun gold, and as he reached out to touch it he thought back to all the hurt looks on her face over the past few weeks as he'd focused solely on himself and his issues.

He removed his clothes noiselessly and slipped into bed next to her. Propping himself up on an elbow so that he could be as close to her as possible.

Deep idown he knew that an apology wouldn't do anything - and yet he had to make things right before they deteriorated completely and he had nothing left to call his own.

"Sveta .." he whispered. "You are the sunlight in my life."

She didn't answer, but patted the hand resting on her forearm a few times.

It was more comforting than he had any right to expect.

Eventually she turned in his arms, and the unequivocal love in her eyes sent shame ricocheting through him.

He had no doubt that his eyes were as glassy as hers when he placed a kiss to her mouth and said, "you are my life."

"And you are mine."

Svetlana had just wrapped her arm around his neck when her phone went off.

"Sergei!" she said as she leapt off the bed and went in search of her handbag.

The conversation was brief, but just long enough to prove that Sergei had been true to his word.

"What is it?" Anatoly asked as he walked out of the bedroom and found her opening the combination to the safe.

As he watched her look through passports, driver's licences, and other documentation, the stress began to fall away from him.

He was being given a chance to redeem himself. He wasn't sure he'd ever know what strings Sergei had pulled or who had been pulled off the upcoming job so that he could have it – but he didn't care.

"Something big?"

Svetlana smiled as she heard the eagerness in his voice.

"I think so .."

* * *

**Author's note:**

That's our baseline. These two characters are now ready to enter the main storyline, as needed. Although I will say that Svetlana will be in one of the three epilogues.


End file.
